Prologue
The sky roared like a fierce dragon over a desolate battlefield. The earth was torn and dried, clinging to the last strands of grass. The wind wailed in the ears of the survivors who dared stand before the woman who towered over them all.
Her marine blue eyes bore down into their groveling states, piercing through battered armor that clung to the earth. If you would describe this person, it'd be a demon. Her white hair flowed behind her as the wind itself held her robe like a pauper to royalty.
'You…don't think you've won this game! 'A man spat, his words toxic through gritted teeth. He wore the crown of a king, his blonde hair riddled with dust and debris.
"Do you yield…"
Her voice remained unbothered by a layman's threats. Silence bored into the ears of all who stood on the field that day, with the exception of only the wind. The king pushed himself to his feet, the wind snapping at the ends of his robes.
"The faith bows to no one, nay, but God! "
The other soldiers began to rise. Armor clinked against battered bodies, and the sound of blades carving the wind rang through as they were raised to the sky.
"Fine then."
The woman raised her hand to the sky, and a staff manifested within her downturned palm. The soldiers readied their weapons for the worst.
"Then I'll show you my malevolence."
She grasped the staff before it could fall. Its tip was carved in the arc of a crescent moon, adorned with sigils that glowed with the hue of her eyes. She whipped the metal staff to the side.
"Don't let her cast another spell!" the king demanded.
The ground erupted into a stampede of feet, their cries shattering the heavy silence of death that plagued the land. The air started to crackle around them, a soft hum lingering in their ears as they trampled the dead earth.
Light flickered around the maiden's staff, calling a beam of light from the heavens that smote the earth. The ground stretched, bent, and rippled to her will, chunks of debris and stone torn apart by her command.
Warriors were knocked off their feet, their minds racing with dread at the attack that was to come. They probably wished they had retreated, wished they had bowed down to the adversary before them. Yet, the king glared at her with anger-kindled eyes, even as he stumbled, now airborne.
They continued to fly higher and higher off the ground, the crackle in the air growing more and more intense. With practiced ease, the maiden whipped her staff through the air, flashes of light flickering from its crescent tip. Blades of light shot forward, piercing through the armor of soldiers.
Each shot came with a deafening, brief whistle as the blades burned the air they crossed. Their effects were immediate; it felt like the attack was burning the soldiers alive. The king's eyes widened in horror as he could do nothing but watch. Hundreds of blades shot toward hundreds of his men. Their screams and agony flooded his ears along with that brief whistle. She was leaving him alive on purpose, her cold gaze almost seeming bored.
The bodies hung lifeless in the air, suspended by the beams of light that had pierced them. The energy crackled, a macabre web connecting the dead to the few still living, stabbing through heart after heart until only the king remained breathing.
"Do you still defy my godhood…"
"You're nothing but the devil!"
"You have no grounds to speak. Your comrades died on your words, and now you waste your breath on insults."
She gestured to the carnage around them.
"Is this anger for your defeat or true grief for their loss? Perhaps their lives meant nothing to you at all."
"Don't lecture me with your tainted words, witch!" As though gravity simply revived, he was slammed to the earth along with the dead bodies of his comrades. He was forced to grovel, to groan and cough as he tried to push himself up.
"You will never be a god!" He spat, a dying snake snapping at the heels of a demon.
"Is that a fact…"
Without another word, she stepped past him, leaving him to grovel in the middle of a manmade graveyard.
"If there were a moment where you could become a god… would you take it?"
A young man stood before what looked to be a jester. They stood on a giant pedestal, kissed by the blistering sun. Water streamed from his feet constantly, running off the edges.
Short black hair, dull brown eyes—nothing about him stood out if you passed him on the street. He was small for his age, not short, but not tall either.
His build wasn't terrible; he had little muscle from half-hearted workouts born from boredom rather than discipline.
Overall he looked—painfully average.
"A god…" the boy repeated the jester's words.
"Yes. To be the ruler of your own kingdom—no, no, no! Way too small!"
The jester's voice was rather eccentric. He couldn't stand still, pacing back and forth, repeatedly. His jester's mask was wide—too wide for a knife to carve in a single arch. His tailcoat dragged behind him, the ends soaked in the constant stream beneath the two.
"To rise even beyond that! To rule the universe! A world where even a pauper can become an entity capable of leveling mountains!"
The jester's hands shot outward. His coat let out a muffled flutter as his body whipped towards the sun. The damp fabric settled back into the waters as he declared.
Who wouldn't want to live in a world like that!? A world like that is what I crave! Don't you?
He felt as though he was in some kind of poorly–scripted dream, a sudden nightmare in a series of horrors. He couldn't bring himself to speak nor could he move. The words moved from his mind and died in his throat. Mouth left agape and waiting.
A world where anyone can be a god… The thought crossed his mind; it was just like the RPGs he'd enjoyed so much back home, though the thought of it even being real wasn't something he could begin—no, dare to fathom.
There's no such thing as other worlds! RPGs are just a fantasy! A way for otakus like me to escape—there's no way this is real—It's just a dream, isn't it?!
"So you are interested! Besides your doubt, you believe in the vision?"
The jester whipped toward him, his mask within his face in an instant. The boy's foot slid from under him, crashing to the pedestal in a wet splash.
His mind went into sudden silence, thoughts frozen when faced with the jester.
"You doubt my words, boy?"
The air reached a stabbing cold that targeted the boy's lungs. Instinctively his hand shot to his chest as he watched the jester's mask up close—though he couldn't find eyes staring back.
When did it get this cold—I can hardly breathe!
"After our many meetings and the many words we've shared, you still think this is a fable? Pauper, ye of little faith! This is no dream!"
His hand reached out to touch the boy's face. His rough, calloused fingers were inches away from his eyes.
"You have been chosen by him, pauper. Don't think for a second I'll let you go…"
C—chosen—
BEEP—BEEP BEEP—BEEP—
The sudden beep of his alarm brought the boy from his slumber. He shot up from his bed in a cold sweat. The sheet scattered haphazardly across the bed as if to free himself. He could still feel the biting cold that lingered in his lungs before it warmed.
That damned dream again! It's been constant lately—
He dragged himself to the edge, feet touching the floor, splashing against something wet that lingered under him.
"Ack—!" He jumped.
His water bottle had spilled by his bedside and drenched the floor in cold water.
"Figures… It's just a dream! Calm down—" The boy muttered to himself.
Though I think that was the most aggressive the jester's ever been—thank you, alarm clock, you saved my ass again!
A door rattled against the frame, the loud BANG snatching the boy from his thoughts. He jumped, his head snapping to his door, his little sister standing confidently with a look of grimace toward him.
"You better be getting ready for school like you promised Mom, Fugi!" She declared.
She wasn't much younger than the boy; in fact, they were only a few months apart. Though despite that, it doesn't stop her from pulling the youngest sibling card. She was a complete contrast to her good-for-nothing brother. With brown eyes that sparkled at everyone but him. Though they were the same size, it didn't matter much to a girl.
Couldn't you knock? Also stop calling me Fugi! You used to be way nicer when we were kids.
He retaliated in his mind, not daring to cause a confrontation aloud. The girl looked at him for a solid moment and huffed, turning to the hallway, leaving the door wide open behind her.
Well—that's it… after months of being a NEET, it couldn't last forever, huh—
The boy's hand reached for his scalp, constantly digging into his hair frantically. Wallowing in his past actions.
Curse past me! Why'd I have to go and say all that, huh?!
He paused. His head slumped over hung shoulders as he let out a dragged sigh.
"Today's going to be a long one…"
***